


The Wife's Tale

by EruditePrincess1993



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Biblical References, Canon Compliant, Child Marriage, Chloe Washington was among the decreased handmaids from the bombing, Expanded Universe, Forced Marriage, Gen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Misogyny, Teen Pregnancy, Theonomy, according to the reading of the names in canada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditePrincess1993/pseuds/EruditePrincess1993
Summary: One letter written by a Wife, the rest written by Handmaids. It was out of place in technicality but it’s message was the same. It gnawed at June’s gut. The cry for help was obvious in it but she could taste her fear in it. Smell her hopelessness in the situation.Gilead didn’t just tear women from their families and turn them into breeding cattle. Gilead also stole young girls’ futures and childhoods.OrThe tale of Joanna McAdams, Wife of Commander Phillip McAdams.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would show Gilead through another perspective other than a Handmaid. For someone being wed off as a teenager is one of the horrors of Gilead. For the Wives are prisoners as well, even if it’s different circumstances.
> 
> Warning: This story contains reference of rape of a minor and instances of dubious consent. This is Gilead, so everything is messed up to a t. 
> 
> Thoughts and hinted/past conversations in italics.
> 
> Not to be confused with itsfourothree’s The Wife’s Tale.

June turned over to the last letter after reading one by a Chloe Washington, or Ofcharles as she knew her before reading it. Glancing at the last letter, it was scrawled with what looked like a purple coloring pencil and thick sketch paper. Maybe snuck into a nursery and hoped that the Marthas or Wife of the household wouldn’t notice one less sheet of paper. It wasn’t unusual. Some Handmaids are posted in households where children from a previous Handmaid are present. Building the population back up is their goal after all.

 

_To whomever this may concern,_

_My name is Joanna McAdams. I’m seventeen years old. I was Joanna Pierce when this all started. Thirteen when this all happened. I was married off to Commander Phillip McAdams when I was fourteen during this district’s first Prayvaganza after his first Wife committed suicide. He couldn’t wait long because his daughter Charlotte was five at the time. He seemed to have no problem with the arrangement. He raped me that night. I didn’t scream, I didn’t try to push him off. I just knew I didn’t want to sleep with him but had to because it was expected._

_He continues to sleep with me and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t consent. They say it’s the new normal, the new ordinary, yet there are days where I refuse to accept it. Even though I act like everything’s okay and pretend to believe in Gilead. I don’t know how to feel about my husband. There are times where I hate his guts and wish that I wasn’t forcibly married to him but there are days where I think I love him because he seems to love me and because he’s the father of two of my children._

_I have two children by him. Joseph, who is two, and Sarah, who’s recently born. I love them both and the only things keeping me sane. It makes it difficult to get out with them, even if I did successfully, they’re just going to find my husband another Wife, probably a little younger and more indoctrinated then I was. I can’t let that happen. I have to be careful because one step out of line and I could become like the rest of these women in these letters. And it’s much worse than the boat I’m in because that means I won’t see my children again and I’ll also be torn from the only thing that I still own, my name. Don’t ask me how I got across these._

_There’s nothing you can do about it. I’m stuck. If you try and help me it will make it worse. Don’t. I just want to get my message across._

_Joanna._

 

 _Fuck_ , June mouthed, reading the letter over. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Joanna McAdams. Pious but naive Joanna. One of the few Wives in Serena’s circle that seemed pretty decent despite her naive and firm belief in in this sick, sick world. Or so she thought on the last part.

Perhaps maybe all the Wives didn’t blindly believe in Gilead like June thought. Maybe some had their own tales. The fact that McAdams’ first Wife committed suicide was telling. She knew that she died. It was mentioned a few times but suicide was never brought up.

One letter written by a Wife, the rest written by Handmaids. It was out of place in technicality but its message was the same. It gnawed at June’s gut. The cry for help was obvious in it but she could taste her fear in it. Smell her hopelessness in the situation.

            Gilead didn’t just tear women from their families and turn them into breeding cattle. Gilead also stole young girls’ futures and childhoods.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we switch to Joanna’s narrative.

_Months earlier_

            “Aren’t the animals supposed to be out of the Ark?” I ask Joseph as I watch him color his picture of Noah’s Ark in the boy’s nursery. The rain pounding against the windows. “They already found dry land.”

            “They are waiting to come out,” he answered, still working on the sky.

            “They are still in the Ark, huh?” I ask. “Well, they could have waited to make sure that it was safe before leaving, couldn’t they?”

            “Yep,” was his answer.

            I ran my hands through his soft blonde hair. “After you get that finished, why don’t we fold it up and bind it together in a ribbon?” I offer. “Daddy and Charlotte would love to see what you drawn today.”

            There is a soft tapping on the door.

            “Come in,” I answer.

            It’s Vera, one of the household Marthas.

            “Your mother and Mrs. Waterford are here, ma’am,” she says.

            I could understand my mother but Mrs. Waterford? My baby shower isn’t until tomorrow. Unless they were leaving another Wife’s social and decided to stop here. Maybe the Putnams’ since Naomi can’t seem to get enough of showing off her heavily pregnant Handmaid.

            Disgusting it is.

            It’s easy to imagine them around Ofwarren. Touching her stomach and congratulating Naomi for her little miracle. When Ofwarren leaves the room, is when the smack talking begins.

            _You won’t believe that the girl puts me through_ , would be the words of Naomi.

            _It’s easier when they are out of sight, out of mind_ , Serena would say. _They are less likely to give trouble_.

            _My Handmaid is good company when I do my knitting_ , I could imagine mother saying.

            And I could imagine Mrs. Caroline Ellis scoffing before saying, _You’re lucky. Mine is ungrateful, it seems. At least your daughter doesn’t have to suffer the humiliation of her husband copulating with one of those little whores on her lap once a month_ _for a few decades_.

            I kiss my son’s head. “I’ll see you shortly,” I tell him. “Finish your drawing.”

            I push myself up and adjust my pastel blue dress over my expanding stomach before leaving him with Vera. Passing her, I could still see the sympathy in her eyes that she had when I first came in this household. I’d know that she rather have an older woman as her new female head of household to replace the first Wife that died. Not some teenager.

            I wish that too on some days.

            Their chatter could be heard as I descended the stairs. Running my hands against the stair banister.

            “Blessed day,” I greet as I reach the landing. Seeing both my mother and Mrs. Waterford waiting in the sitting room. “God has blessed us an abundance of rain.”

            “Praised be,” Serena says in reply as mother leaves her chair. “My flowers need it.”

            I place my chin on my mother’s left shoulder as we embrace. My baby bump in the way.

            “Everything okay?” she asked.

            “Nothing much has changed,” I answer as I depart to my chair. Hand on my stomach. “Little tyke is starting to get active.”

            “By the time that your baby’s born, the Putnams’ baby will be a few month’s old,” Serena says as Beverly enters the room, carrying a tray of three cups. Two coffees and one tea.

            “I take it that you visited the Putnams’ earlier,” I say, picking up the saucer. Chamomile.

            “Naomi is inpatient for that baby to be born anytime now,” says Serena as she picks up her cup. “We all are.”

            _Probably because of the attention she’ll get from fake labor pangs_ , I think derisively. It adds on to the other layer of disgusting. The poor Handmaids are pregnant while the Wives are given the attention as if they are pregnant themselves.

            That some of them want their Handmaids to get pregnant not because they want the baby, but because of the attention it gives them. And to get that Handmaid out of the house, especially if they dislike the Handmaid.

            “Babies come out when they are ready,” mother points out. “Yet, those nine months can seem like forever if you are eager to see the baby.”

            When I was pregnant with Joseph, it felt like nine months were an eternity. Simply because I was carrying a baby that I felt like I was too young to have. I was fourteen when I found out. Fifteen when I gave birth to him.

            Yet, everything changed for me when he was placed in my arms for the first time.

            “I’m only five months, so my second one isn’t ready to come out yet,” I say. “The little tyke has got some time yet.”

            “Have you and Phillip thought of any names?” was Serena’s question

            I nearly drop my tea on my stomach as mother side glares at Serena for her question.

            “Not until I have reached eight months,” I answer before sipping my tea and setting the saucer down. “A lot can happen between now and then.”

            Hopefully it’s a girl since I had a boy. Charlotte would love a baby sister. However, it’s just another child to be brought up in this messed up world. And I have no choice but to rear her in it.

            Vera enters with Joseph in her arms. Mother’s face lights up at the site of him, as does Serena. Toddlers have a special kind of magic with people that love children.

            “There he is,” mother beams as Vera slips him in her arms. “Have you been a good boy to your mother?”

            “We spent most of the day in the nursery before you came,” I say. “Too rainy to take him out on the stroller.”

            “You are getting to be a big boy,” mother teased him. “We might put a brick on your head.”

            “God might say otherwise,” Serena replies. “He’s bound to grow up to be a handsome man like his father.”

            Outwardly, I chuckle in amusement as I sip my tea. Hiding my grimace as I drank the warm beverage. I wish that she wouldn’t have said anything on that topic. Then again I won’t know how I feel about Joseph looking like his father.

 

* * *

 

            I knew Serena Joy Waterford since the time before. Since I was a child. She and her husband were friends with my parents. Then again, the current Commanders and their families had their own circle of friends with the other before the President’s Day Massacre. My husband was in Commander Pryce’s circle when they were part of the Grand Rapids, Michigan chapter of the original Sons of Jacob.

            She used to sing gospel music when she was a teenager. Released a few albums before calling it quits after graduating from Oberlin. At least according to father.

            I know her more for her “domestic feminism” campaigns. That is, women living by traditional values and embracing their “biological destiny” or nonsense like that. She made speeches about it, was interviewed on conservative news organizations for her take on liberal culture.  She even wrote a book about her crusade, which gave her a slot talking about it on C-Span.

            A year before DC, she went under fire for saying that if men actually loved their women and were concerned for the sanctity of the home, that they should use their second amendment rights to take this country back to God.

            Funny in hindsight as the Constitution was suspended the very day Congress was slaughtered, all Supreme Court justices killed, and the White House bombed.

            My friend Cynthia thought that Serena was in the loony bin or something.

            _I mean I don’t understand why you work your butt off at the hospital_ , I overheard Serena tell my mother in the kitchen five years ago as the latter washed the cake dishes. _Orthopedic surgery can be strenuous on the mind. I don’t see why you don’t spend more time at home. You have two good children_.

            Mother stopped the faucet. _If God wanted me to stay at home, I would have,_ was her answer _. But it’s in his will that I work at the hospital. At least it’s for a good cause. Besides, Charles and I want our children to have a good future_.

            _No offense to you, Maureen, but I can’t imagine any mother sacrificing their place in the home for their child’s future_ , were her words.

            _For someone that advocates the traditional family roles, you don’t have a problem with living the opposite_ , mother pointed out scathingly.

            Four years later after the President’s Day Massacre, my mother is living Serena’s fantasy that the latter pulled her in, and if I were allowed to possess money, I can bet twenty dollars that it doesn’t agree with them. Only that Serena was for all of this to happen. Mother was happy with the life she lived only for her to be reduced to a Wife due to the desires of Serena, my father, and those involved for making Gilead in the first place. 

            Not to mention that I was pulled into it as well. At fourteen.

           

* * *

 

            I see mother and Serena out the door. Informing my mother to tell my brother Noah that I have sent my regards.

            I shortly returned to the company of my son. This time playing with his blocks and with his wooden xylophone.

            It’s about two when Charlotte returns home from her lessons. Holly taking her pink raincoat from her.

            “How was lessons, Charlotte?” I asked her.

            “The boys visited today,” she prattled away. “We had to learn about dynamics at the dinner table.”

            I nod. The boys always visit the girls’ school. Never the way around. These days boys undergo regular schooling while girls’ go to school to learn about womanly, feminine duties and oral history and oral bible studies. Girls have lessons three days a week while boys have school five days a week. “I’m sure that was fun,” I say.

            “I was partnered with Richard Kennedy,” she answers, as if that was an annoyance. “He has buck teeth and carrot red hair.”

            “Be careful, because that might come back to bite you,” I say. “He might grow up to be a looker.”

            She stuck out her tongue in disgust and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Curious to see what your brother drew?” I unfold the drawing and show her his sketch.

            “We were lectured on the Great Flood today,” she says.

            “How neat,” I comment. 

            Charlotte takes Joseph by the hand. Pulling him up and leading him to the toy piano by the window. Their uneven keystrokes filling the silence as I remove my unfinished piece of embroidery and the embroidery kit from the end table.

            Mother taught me embroidery since I was eight. Something that I could do in my spare time. One of the tasks that I’m thankful to have experience in since it’s illegal for women to read and even write. I like painting but knitting and gardening is a bore. Yet I do the last two anyway.

           

* * *

 

            Charlotte was five when I came into her life. It was a few hours after my first Prayvaganza from which I was married to Commander Phillip McAdams when we met.

            _It might not be easy for her_ , Phillip said as we descended the steps of the Putnam mansion. Leaving the small reception. _She loved her mother dearly_.

            _Yes, Mr. McAdams_ , I answered. My legs like gelatin as my mind was still woozy from the mandated wedding ceremony hours earlier.

            He turned me to face him. _None of the formalities_ , he said. _You’re not a Daughter anymore. You’re a Wife now. My Wife. By all means, call me Phillip_.

            I swallowed as I looked at him. Hardly fathoming why this man at thirty-four was regarding a teenager at mere fourteen as his wife.  This wouldn’t have been normal years ago. I was young but not too young that I didn’t know any other way.

 _Yes, Phillip_ , I answered with a nod.

 _Good_ , he answered. _Let’s get you to your new home_.

We boarded one of those black cars. I shivered when he scooched close to me. Taking off the white cap from my head and tossing it aside before wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Given that he seemed to have no problem with a fourteen year old as his bride, my dread for tonight outweighed my feelings of what reception I might receive from his daughter.

A nine year age difference is enough for siblings. Her possible initial rejection would mean little.

When we got there, I followed him up one of the stone steps leading up to the front lawn of the house. Heart hammering in my chest as someone opened the door. A Martha in her forties. Her burgundy red hair peeking from her cap.

 _Welcome home, sir_ , she greeted. Eyeing me critically as I was out of place for which I was.

 _If you have a problem, Vera, you might as well get over yourself_ , he snapped _. Expect unions like this to become ordinary_.

The harsh cadence in his voice was enough to make me wince. Even if it became ordinary, it wouldn’t feel ordinary to me.

Vera nodded and stepped aside so we could enter the house.

 _Where is Charlotte?_ he asked as he closed the door behind us.

 _In the nursery with Holly_ , was her answer.

 _Send for her_ , he said. _Tell her that daddy has a surprise for her_.

 _Yes, sir_ , Vera said. Her weariness not leaving her eyes even as she left.

At that point, he ushered me to the sitting room. Telling me to get comfortable, for this room would become my domain. Yet, it was hard to get comfortable. For I felt sick to my stomach, especially with the fact that he was stroking me from my scalp to my back.

Minutes later, Vera arrived in the room holding a little girl in the prescribed pink dress (older Daughters are prescribed to wear white). Her eyes fixed to her father. His little girl Charlotte.

Her attention was turned to her father. For Vera had set her down, allowing her to run towards him.

 _There is my little girl_ , he beamed. Setting her on his lap. _Keeping Vera, Holly, and Beverly busy today?_

She shrugged. That is when her attention was turned to me. Her head cocked to the side. _Who’s that_ , she asked.

 _This is why I had to go for a few hours_ , he explained. _They gave your daddy a new Wife. This is Joanna, Charlotte. Your new mother. Joanna, meet Charlotte_.

I inhaled. Curling my lips into a smile. Desperately hoping that she didn’t read my apprehension. _Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte. May God make me truly worthy to be beside your father._

She was five at the time, though I had to say it. And I felt intimidated by the gaze of a five year old girl. For she looked as if she couldn’t comprehend what was before her.

 _Why couldn’t mommy come back_ , was her question. _Why her?_

 _Mommy left us_ , he explained. _God provided us a blessing. Besides, the law says your daddy can’t be alone for long_.

I felt horrible for intruding, even if I was assigned against my will. As if I was in another woman’s domain. Stealing what isn’t mine. Thoughts that shouldn’t have been running in a fourteen year old girl’s head.

That night I told her, _I will not replace you’re mommy. I want you to regard me as a friend. A big sister. Your daddy would expect me to call me mommy, for he sees me as your mommy. But you don’t have to see me as your mom_.

 

* * *

 

Phillip joined us a mere few hours after Charlotte came back from her lessons. He placed his hand on my shoulder and kissed my head. I clasp my hand around his wrist in reciprocation.

 Then he turned his attention to his children.

“Keeping yourselves busy today?” he asked as he picked up Joseph. “This little guy giving you problems over here?”

“I spent time with him the nursery,” I answer, standing up. I unfold his sketch. “He drew this.”

He took the drawing in his hands and curled his lips into a smile. “At two, he’s quite the artist,” he says. “Good taste in settings.”

“If you want to know where the animals are, they are still in the Ark,” I inform him. “Waiting for the right time to come out.”

“All in God’s timing,” he said.

The four of us soon gathered at the dining table. Him on one end, me at the other while our children sat at the sides.

“Mother and Serena came over today,” I tell him as I pour my gravy over my potatoes. “They had visited Naomi and her Handmaid earlier.”

“With the baby shower tomorrow, you will see them twice in a row,” he states. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m sure your mother was checking upon you and Mrs. Waterford was tagging along.”

I nod. “I just hope that they don’t spoil the baby too much,” I answer. “I was overwhelmed with the baby shower for Joseph.”

Overwhelmed because it was a baby shower for a baby that I didn’t want at first.

“Enthusiasm for an infant isn’t a sin, Joanna,” he replies. “In times like these, allow them to get carried away.”

I could understand. Birth rates have dropped in the past few years. The odds of a healthy birth are one in four. That is, if you can get pregnant at all.

“Anything eventful happen at school?” Phillip asked Charlotte.

In every household, it’s prescribed for the children to wait for the adults to address them before they can exchange conversation. Another part of the traditional values that they desired to bring back.

“The boys visited for household dynamics,” she answered. “I was partnered with buck toothed and carrot haired Richard Kennedy.”

“You must not judge people by their appearance,” he chides. “You never know. You might be assigned to him at a Prayvaganza in a few years.”

“It is a while yet,” I inform him. Not until she’s older then fourteen hopefully. Yet the odds of her getting married older are in vain, for he and other Commanders have no problem marrying young girls off to older men. I wish they could have waited until I was eighteen. I really do.

 _Get them when they’re young_ , they always say.

“She must still be prepared,” he persists, his tone indicating that there are to be no arguments. He turns to her, “I understand that children’s minds are different then the mind of an adult. However, we need to judge a person for what fruits they contain. Not by what they look on the outside. Am I clear, Charlotte?”

She nods. “Yes, father.”

“Good,” he says. “Hopefully this serves as a learning moment for you.”

Repeated reinforcements, I hear. For we desire to create a less superficial generation.

Regarding the banning of makeup, I could say that Gilead has nothing to worry about. Yet, there might be teens daring enough to buy a set of makeup from the black market.

It’s seven at night when we tuck Charlotte and Joseph goodnight. Kissing their heads and telling them to sleep tight. To say the children’s prayer if nightmares come to play.

With the children put to sleep, we both retreated to the sitting room for adult post-dinner talk. I have tea and he has a shot of champagne. The latter of which we still have that hasn’t been banned as of yet. The strong stuff and the alcoholic malt drinks are banned.

Our alone time is just another reminder that he holds dominion over me. For he has to have the first word and the last.

“Waterford wants to extend an arm to Mexico,” Phillip begins as I sip from my cup. “Not a bad idea by any means. They have a problem with their population. I have to give him credit for his cleverness. However that doesn’t make him wise.”

“And what will your role be, I suppose?” I ask him despite knowing the answer.

“Shine this district up like a new penny,” he answers. “Mexico doesn’t need to know the gruesome details of our everyday lives, now do they?”

“No, they don’t,” I answer.

Each Commander heads something. My husband is the Commander of Enlightenment. His job is to make Gilead look like an ideal place to raise the traditional family. That it’s a nation that allows people to put God first.

 _Enlightenment_ is just a fancy replacement for propaganda. Window dressing is all that is. For a country that claims to pride itself on the word of God can’t have a department explicitly labelled propaganda. Though I suppose that some nations see through it.

“It’s only been two months since the Waterfords lost their Handmaid and received a new one,” I say. “May God bless her fruit.”

“If anything does happen, it’s because something is wrong with the household,” he reckons. “It’s a shame that some Commanders and their Wives take their blessings from God for granted sometimes.”

Sometimes I wish he just shut up. For his high and mighty attitude is worse than annoying.

“Relating to foreign relations, how are your efforts to connect with the EU?” I ask. Some Commanders double as emissaries and he was selected for the European Union.

“Some days, I feel like getting through to them and arranging a meeting,” he answers. “Other days it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. One of these days, they will come to their senses and have no choice but to establish connections. If they want to Euro to still keep going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is a totalitarian government without someone in charge of propaganda? Gilead does have fascist trappings, so it would be strange for Gilead not to have a department for propaganda. 
> 
> According to The Handmaid’s Tale Wikia, there is a rift between corrupt Commanders who break the law on occasion (like Waterford) and Commanders who actually believe in their own cause (like Pryce). So, I figured it would be interesting to feature a household where the male head of household is a true believer of Gilead. Doesn’t make him better then Waterford, though.
> 
> As for Serena Joy singing gospel as a teenager, it’s a callback to the book where Offred mentioned that Serena Joy would sing before her activism.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious about the McAdams’ house, click here is the link: http://eruditeprincess1993.tumblr.com/post/175247641308/here-is-the-visual-inspiration-for-the-mcadams
> 
> TW: References to rape and rape of a minor.

                Lying in bed on my side, I could feel his arm around my stomach. With his hand splayed on my round stomach. His steady breathing echoing behind me.

            This display is considered nothing out of the ordinary. Just a husband spooning with his pregnant wife. Despite the fact that the circumstances are different. Despite the fact that it’s a grown man spooning a teenager.

            And it’s not the night where I can scooch closer to him like I would at times. I would do that. Seek his comfort for he’s the only one there to give me it. Tonight, I wish he take his hands off me.

            But I can’t forbid him from feeling his child move inside me. Even if it’s a temptation.

            Within a moment’s passing, I carefully break myself from his hold to go to the bathroom. This tyke has got to be kidding me. Yet, it’s an excuse to leave his arms. I do my business on my toilet.

            Flushing the toilet after wiping myself. Gazing at my reflection as I wash my hands. Turning off the faucet before leaning against the tile walls. Massaging my stomach as I feel this baby in me. Landing a small kick against my stomach.

 

* * *

 

            _Ms. Carlson is going to rip me a new one when she learns that I procrastinated that essay on Tsar Russia_ , Cynthia said as we hung out in my room. The script for the school’s play of Romeo and Juliet on my lap.

            _And I thought she was terrible at getting on my case about chatting in school_ , I say. _She’s such a buzzkill_.

            Ms. Carlson was our seventh grade social studies at the Catholic Middle School that we went. Which she was before becoming an Aunt to the Handmaids (Aunt Lydia, she is specifically). I thought that suit her, to be honest because she seemed to enjoy being in charge.

            _Still going over that script?_ Cynthia asked. _Any other play is better than that crap pile_.

            _It’s supposed to be one of the fabled love stories in history_ , I replied. Yet I could understand why the play irritated her. It featured a thirteen year old and an older teenage cry baby getting married the day after meeting each other. They ended up killing themselves due to unfortunate circumstances.

            Times were different back then but still.

            _And you play Juliet_ , she said, as she still couldn’t comprehend it. I meant to audition as a joke but apparently I executed it so well that I was given the part. It backfired but at least it’s got it’s perks. My crush plays Romeo.

            _At least Jason Goddard plays Romeo_ , I said. _It would make it more worthwhile_.

            Jason was on the middle school wrestling team. He had great hair and great teeth. Most the girls in my grade liked him.

            _You’re going to kiss him?_ she asked, as if the notion disgusted her.

            _Hey, it’s going to be a peck on the cheek_ , I assured her. _We can’t really slobber each other in a middle school production_.

            _Amen to that_ , she said before taking a swallow of her Pepsi. _Anyway, let’s go to Watson’s and buy some potato chips. I’m hungry for something salty_.

 

* * *

 

            I distance myself from the bathroom wall. My bare feet touching the carpet as I approached the bed. Crawling onto the sheets and under the blankets. As if he senses that I’m back, Phillip wraps his arm around me. Tight but not too tightly that it could cut into my stomach.

.

* * *

 

There was a small theater that showed matinees for children. Noah and I would go watch films like _Harry Potter_ , _How To Train Your Dragon_ , a variety of Disney classics. They had the best popcorn and confectioneries. The caramel popcorn was my favorite.

That little theater closed down when I was twelve. Basically because AMC came into the Cambridge area and took business from them as they say.

Noah seemed bummed but it didn’t affect me for some reason. Probably because I was caught up in the throes of puberty. I was leaving my early childhood behind for my teenage years, for they say that your teenage years are one to look forward to.

If there was anything I learned in recent years, one takes their early years for granted. Because we think our lives will be better when they are older. Not knowing that our innocence is one to cherish.

 

* * *

 

He was absent when I woke up this morning. I thought I heard the bell toll a couple hours earlier. Maybe there was a Men’s Salvaging today. After that, the men would go skeet-shooting, which is what they do during a baby shower.

            I showered in lukewarm water before changing into a royal blue dress. Braiding my hair down my left shoulder. You can wear your hair down, but it has to be in a braid. For wearing your hair loose down to your shoulders is considered erotic.

            Charlotte was cheerful and talkative this morning. “Matron Susan says that we’re painting flowers today,” she piped up. “I’m going to paint lilacs. They are pretty.”

            She mentioned that she was going to Commander Ryan’s home with Violet. That Violet’s father’s driver will take her home before dinner. At least that hasn’t changed. Kids going over to friend’s houses after school.

            I held Joseph tightly as I saw her off to school. Watching as the girls’ bus picked her up and drove her away.

            Cakes and other assortments of goodies were wafting in the air as I handed Joseph over to Holly. Who will be looking after him during the baby shower. I kiss his little fingers and blow him a kiss goodbye before walking away to oversee preparations.

            The sitting room has enough space for the Wives to sit I think, though the Marthas from mother’s household and the Pryce household are placing extra chairs for good measure. And setting up a table where gifts can be placed.

            They are setting up the refreshment and food table in the dining room.

            Things look good.

            Mother is the first to arrive predictably, with her Handmaid Ofcharles in tow. The hand binding ritual involving the pregnant Handmaid and the Wife isn’t needed in this shower but what can you expect from force of habit after a dozen of baby showers in the past four years?

            “Everything going well for you?” mother asks as I took the parcel from her hands. “I mean, this is the first shower you organized yourself.”

            “Everything is good,” I answer. “I mean I asked you and the other Wives for tips.”

            Especially since I was in a detached haze for the first baby shower. “Why don’t you take a seat before everyone else gets here? Same for you, Ofcharles.”

            Ofcharles just sits to the side. Hands clasped on her lap. As if she was hoping to go unnoticed in the next few minutes. Even if mom encouraged her to come closer.

            Yet, I don’t say that I blame her. Most of the Wives can be condescending bitches, excluding mother and some others.

            Serena and Naomi come around the same time. The presence of the latter’s one-eyed and heavily pregnant Handmaid isn’t too much of a surprise. Probably still wants the high of attention that the other Wives give her.

            I’m surprised that Serena brought her Handmaid given that she’s expressed her dislike of her since the past two months this one was posted in her house. Probably to keep an eye on her this way.

            “It smells good in here,” Ofwarren observes as she removes her cloak. “What’s baking?”

            Some of these women might think I was going to spoil these women. It won’t hurt that I would give them a small slice of cake and sparkling white grape juice. It’s a special day after all.

            “I’m going to have you sample some cake,” I explain as Serena put a small parcel into Offred’s hands. Supposedly to have her place it with the rest of the presents. “The table is in the sitting room,” I instruct her. “It won’t be hard to find with the gift on it.”

            “Aren’t you spoiling them a little?” Serena asks me as I see my mother tying an extra cushion to a chair. Probably for Ofwarren to make it more comfortable. “I mean, I know it’s your baby shower but it might go into these girls’ heads.”

            Girls. It’s never _women_ despite the fact that a good number of Handmaids’ are older than me. Women in their twenties and thirties. Who most likely had established families and lives before Gilead. It’s condescending and infantilizing.   

            Demeaning too.

            “It’s not spoiling them if I want to be a good hostess,” I answer. “Celebrating an upcoming arrival of a baby is something that they should enjoy as well. It’s not going to be often this happens. Beside, one sliver of cake for each of them won’t hurt.”

            Serena nods. “Yes, she says. “Forgive me.”

            Probably doesn’t want to rock the boat. I could only imagine what she’s thinking in her head. _Means well but so naïve. It’s a detriment_.

            Detriment indeed.

            Eleanor Pryce, Wife of Commander Andrew Pryce, is the third one to arrive here and I have to hide my amused grin as Serena tries to hide her displeasure at the sight of her. “Blessed day,” I greet. Seeing Ofandrew behind her, I continue, “I see that God has continued His mercies on your household.”

            Ofandrew is four months along. One month behind from me. She seems content in her lot in life though that’s probably because Eleanor makes an effort to make Ofandrew feel content "without spoiling her".

            Though most of the Wives see just one gesture of kindness as spoiling them. Though mother and Eleanor would argue otherwise.

            “And I see that God is doing the same with your household as well,” she replies, touching my stomach. “May He continue his mercies on you from this day forward.”

            Aside from mother, Eleanor is one of the few Wives I don’t mind associating myself with.

            It only took within fifteen minutes for the other Wives within mother’s circle to show up. Some of them following the gesture and bringing their Handmaids.

            We sit in the chairs and loveseats as chatter fills the room. The Martha’s carrying around champagne and cake that they baked. Which is a rub in the face since I can’t have champagne and a large slice of cake. Yet the white grape juice I’m given isn’t bad.

            “Seems pretty active,” I comment to Ofwarren as I touch her stomach. “The little tyke might grow up to keep mommy busy.”

            Naomi chuckles. A chuckle that is rather forced I think. “Hopefully that waits for a few years,” she says. “Though my Marthas might have more energy than me with the baby.”

            And of course Naomi had to answer because the Wives are technically the mothers of these babies. The Handmaids are forced surrogates.

            “Hopefully you’re going to run after this little tyke too if he or she is around your vicinity, Naomi,” I tell her.

            “Hopefully he or she will be well behaved,” Naomi remarks.

            Probably doesn’t want to deal with a toddler.  Toddlers will be toddlers. That’s a fact. They will take up most of your time and energy.

            They have finished their attention from Ofwarren onto me. Five hands at a time on my stomach. I’m not as big as Ofwarren but that doesn’t stop people from not wanting to feel the baby. I invite the Handmaids to come and feel the baby as well. Caroline and a few other Wives look as if they are constipated by that particular request.

            Eleanor chuckles as she feels a kick. “This one is going to be an active one,” she states.

            “Is the little one keeping you up at night?” Cornelia Deeds asks me.

            I chuckle. “Not too bad,” I answer. “At least not yet. It’s an assurance that everything is alright in there. It should be.”

            “Your baby is doing just fine,” mother assures. “Everything was fine when you first had Joseph.”

            It’s a wonder why I didn’t miscarry when I had him. I was a mental basket case then.

            Aside from the baby and the pregnant Handmaid in the room, the other Wives, of course, talk about their personal lives.

            “Fred spends most of his time in the office. Either he gets to bed late, wakes up early, or he sleeps in his office.”

            “My Marthas go yakity yak almost all the time. I understand that there isn’t much to talk about but they should tone it down a bit.”

            “Noah seems to have an interest in this girl a few houses away. He wants to invite her for dinner someday,” mother says.

            “It’s innocent, right?” Caroline asks her.

            “It’s supposed to,” mother replies. “They are children.”

            “Puppy love,” Serena sighs. “But God’s gifts are new every day. God will find him the right person.”

            Because love before marriage is over rated here. Love before marriage is a nonexistent concept. Love before marriage sets up for disappointment and sorrow. Love isn’t needed to be married and have children. Love before marriage is of the heart and the heart is the wickedest part of the body, the good book says.

             Then it’s time for the presents. Knitted booties and blankets from Serena Joy. Naomi gifted me a basket with a giant stuffed polar bear and a tin of cookies. Probably made with reduced sugar. Assortment of baby clothes from various guests. Various toys from various guests. An new nursing pump from mother. I was given one for Joseph but I guess that a new one is more sanitary.

            Even with the comments about the gifts (“How cute,” “absolutely stunning,” “the baby will look adorable in that,” “he or she is going to be a spoiled one,” etc.), the resentment could be felt in the room. It could come from the Wives since most of them can’t bear a child. Yet it’s probably stronger for the Handmaids.

            For the past few baby showers, they had to watch a Wife receive gifts while the pregnant Handmaid of said household would sit and watch. To see a pregnant Wife open presents for a baby that won’t be taken away from her must be two painful slaps in the face.

            Mother says something about getting Joseph from the nursery and leaves her coffee cup on the table before walking away from the sitting room.

            “Joseph is going to be jealous when he sees his new sibling,” Leah remarks. “He’s going to think that he’s being replaced.”

            “If he does, it will fade away eventually,” I answer. “It’s natural and temporary.”

            Mother said that I was jealous of Noah when he was born. That when she came home from the hospital, I was dejected when I saw a baby in her arms. I was two and had no memory of it but I believe it.

            I remember Charlotte being forlorn when Joseph was born. She cried when Phillip showed her Joseph and was quiet for a few weeks before perking up again.

            “Where’s the bathroom?” a Handmaid asks after a few minutes. Ofglen, I think. She came with Cornelia, and I see her and Offred on walks from time to time.

            “Across the dining room,” I say, slowly getting up from my chair. “I may help you if you like.”

            “I think I can find it,” she says before hurrying out of the sitting room. A few amused chuckles following her departure as if she was some child daring for independence.

            Pitiful it is.

            A half a minute after she left for the bathroom, mother comes back with Joseph in her arms. With Holly following behind her.

            The conversation shifts and the Wives go goggled eyed at the sight of my son. Their gossip fading. From my peripheral vision, Ofwarren shifts in her seat.  Ofglen, who’s returned from her bathroom break, appears pensive at the sight before her.

            “He has grown to be a big boy,” Leah comments.

            “It was only yesterday that he was just a newborn baby,” Naomi gushes. “He was a tiny baby.”

            “He was eight pounds when he was born,” I acknowledge as I shift him to my lap. “Wondering why you’re in a room with lots of women?” I asked before kissing his nose.

            Even with the amused chuckles, one could still feel the faint resentment from the Wives and the Handmaids in the room. It would have been great if I wasn’t fruitful.

 

* * *

 

            Most of the guests left, though Serena, Eleanor, and mom remained to help organize the presents and to take what’s ever left of the cake and baked confectioneries to their homes. Having had their Handmaids sent home.

            “I want something similar when Fred and I receive our blessing,” Serena sighs as she places a slice of cake in her container. “A baby would lighten up our atmosphere.”

            If the current Offred can survive past that or if anything else doesn’t happen to her. Houses where something horrible happens to a previous Handmaid are bad luck, I heard within my husband’s circle.

            What will happen to this one? I don’t want to think about it.

            Serena, and Eleanor filter away, leaving me with my mother.

            “I can’t stand her,” mother stressed. “Serena never got off her high horse and even if it’s what she wanted, she wants more. As if this fantasy of hers isn’t enough.”

            Probably didn’t think that she’ll fall in the category. “I don’t think this life suits her,” I relay to mother. “She’s not letting on that she’s miserable but I can tell that she was more comfortable with campaigning, writing, and making speeches.”

            “I can sense it,” mother replies. “She never practiced what she preached either.”

            “She didn’t need to dictate my future either,” I sigh.

            I see mother out mere minutes before my husband returns home.

            “Blessed day, Jo,” he greets before pecking my lips. I didn’t recoil even if I wanted to. “Praise be His bounty,” he continued when he saw the table of opened goods. “I see that the Wives made a good use of their gift tokens. Plenty of enthusiasm.”

            “It’s more toys then the last one for Joseph,” I say.

            Women are prohibited from currency, so they use tokens instead. Everything from a specific type of food, clothing tokens, flower tokens, mending tokens, and gift tokens. Wives don’t need the food and mending tokens because they have the Marthas for that stuff.

            “Was there Mens’ Salvaging?” I asked. “You weren’t in bed when I got up this morning and I heard bells two hours prior.”

            He nods. “Two Guardians for Gender Treachery and one Angel for Carnal Seizure of a butcher’s Econowife,” he answers with a sigh. “The poor woman would have to undergo a cleansing ceremony and be represented to her husband.”

            Carnal Seizing. _But if a man find a betrothed damsel in the field, and the man force her, and lie with her: then the man only that lay with her shall die_ , according to Deuteronomy 22:25. It’s a capital crime for a man to seize another man’s Wife, Econowife, Daughter, Handmaid, and Martha. Rapes before Gilead are not prosecuted since they happened in the “Babylonian Era” they said. Yet, few men are prosecuted and killed. Probably because the women are afraid to speak up in fear that they will somehow get blamed for it.

            “I will pray that God will give that couple strength for that turbulent time before the rejuvenation of their relationship,” I say.

            Thing is, marital rape is nonexistent here in Gilead. It’s not rape if it isn’t your husband, right?

 

* * *

 

            Following the Prayvaganza of my marriage, dread for that night ensued. I was going to have to lay with him that night. It didn’t help that Serena and mother made mention of it. The former was seemingly expectant that it would happen. While the latter seemed to hope that it wouldn’t be that soon.

            I didn’t want to sleep with him. I wasn’t ready, I was too young. Too young to have sex with a man literally twenty years older than me. I didn’t want to but I knew that I had to because it’s what’s expected of a husband and his wife. Yet, in vain I hoped that he wouldn’t be in the mood for he lost his first Wife just five months prior.

            How wrong I was.

            When he went in me, it hurt. As if I was being slightly stretched out. Tears brimming as he continued over me. No, why, why? The fact that he decided to kiss me down my neck made it worse. Made my skin crawl over the forced closeness and forced intimacy he was forcing upon me.

            The Matrimonial Bedsheet – which I was supposed to cover myself with and which he was supposed to slip his cock into – lay on the floor by the bed. Ignored. He didn’t want to use it, he thought that it made the experience cheapened and less intimate. That it ruined the purpose. It wasn’t prescribed, he said. Only strongly recommended. Yet I wish it was prescribed so I wouldn’t feel this close to him.

            It felt like an eternity had passed before he came into me. He collapsed beside me and wrapped his arm around me. Cradling me as if I was his longtime sweetheart. I waited until he was fast asleep before leaving the bed and going into the bathroom.

            Where I cleaned myself from the sink and sobbed quietly.

            A fourteen year old was supposed to go on some fluffy date with a crush. Not have her innocence taken from a grown man who was married once before losing his first Wife.

**Author's Note:**

> And yes, Chloe Washington was among the slain Handmaids from the bombing. Chloe could have written a letter before her death.


End file.
